Past a Breaking Point
by Sandylee007
Summary: SET IMMEDIATELY AFTER 'ABOMINABLE BRIDE' During the car ride it becomes apparent that John Watson's had his fill of secrets and lies. Sherlock's drug use is the final straw. ONESHOT


A/N: So… I've been mulling over the events of 'His Last Vow' and the Christmas Special in my head a bit. And the more I think about it, the more upset I am with how Sherlock's drug habits have suddenly become what feels like one of the biggest parts of the series. This is particularly upsetting because a), it's never been that big of an element in the novels, b) because the creators of the series have always said that they won't be making it a big deal, and c) because the creators of the series have been so tasteful with the touchy subject until now. I'm not sure if I'm the only one bothered, but I WAS bothered, to a point where this fic was born. (smirks sheepishly)

DISCLAIMER: OH, if only…! but nope, absolutely no, I own nothing, and (sadly) no profit is made out of this (just getting this off my chest, heh!)

WARNINGS: HEAVY mentions of drug use, relationship problems, adult themes, some language… (looks around) anyone there…?

Awkay, before I change my mind… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy this lil' tale.

* * *

 ** _Past a Breaking Point_**

* * *

The silence in the car was deafening. It was slowly yet surely beginning to irritate Sherlock, who was fast on his way down from a high. Venomous words were already gathering to the tip of his tongue.

As it turned out, John beat him to it. "So… How long, exactly, have you been using?" The former soldier's voice was harder than steel and cut like a knife. The man was so furious that he was shaking, and refused to look towards Sherlock.

Sherlock bit back a groan. This was getting worse and worse… "Kindly shut up now, John." His head was killing him. He was _not_ ready for this… chat.

John ignored him. "Since your… return? Is that why you've been so different? Or did you wait until after the wedding?"

"Does it matter?"

Well, at least that succeeded in coaxing John to look at him. It took all he had not to flinch. Never before had his friend directed a look like that at him. "Yes, Sherlock, it bloody matters! Because I want to know how long you played me for a fool because I trusted you to not do something this _stupid_!"

It was hard to tell what cut the deepest. How deep John's disappointment ran, or the insult to his intelligence. Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "My using stopped being your business from the moment you moved out of Baker Street", he snapped. That… was not what he expected himself to say.

This time to look in John's eyes was something even more horrible than the disappointment. It was a combination of bottomless hurt and guilt. Revealed that this time he'd pushed too far. A frosty little smile appeared to the doctor's face as the man shook his head. "You still call yourself a user, then? At least call it what it is! You're an addict, Sherlock! An addict who needs help before he gets himself or someone else killed!"

Something close to fury bubbled in Sherlock's veins. Itched like no drug could. It made his tone dangerous. "My _using_ is perfectly under control, thank you."

John wasn't taken aback. Instead the smaller man laughed, a humorless snort that was so bitter it stung like a whip. "You just took enough drugs to hallucinate of the Victorian era! And based on the list Mycroft showed me it's a miracle your still conscious or even alive!"

Sherlock's fists balled and he felt so physically uncomfortable that it was getting hard to breathe. If the car wouldn't stop soon… "That's because I know what I'm doing."

"No, Sherlock, you don't. You haven't known what you're doing since you came back and I'm finally starting to see it." John's tone was softer but the man was by no means calm. "You need help."

Around then Sherlock finally began to realize that they weren't headed towards Baker Street. He tensed up, like a tiger ready to attack anything that moved. "Where the hell are you taking me?"

"You need help", John repeated. More sharply this time. "Or I will never allow you into my daughter's life."

"John…!" Mary gasped but she was ignored.

It definitely felt worse than being hit by a bullet. Sherlock's mouth was already open as he turned to glare at John but the doctor was faster. "Since we met you've been making all these decisions for me. You decided that we'd share a flat after just one look at me. You decided that I'd have to forgive my wife after she killed you! I don't even know how many times you've drugged me, at least once to a point where I forgot a full bloody day! And twice…" John's eyes welled up and the words got tangled. It took a hard, loud gulp before the former soldier managed to go on. "Twice, now, you've decided that it was perfectly acceptable to reserve me a front row seat as you kill yourself! Once it was fake, once for real! Not that I would've known as much either time." This… This was definitely the angriest he'd ever seen John. Even more furious than back then at the restaurant and afterwards, when he was punched several times. The doctor's limit had been crossed. "I… I bloody well accepted all that, like a proper idiot, because… because I became addicted, too! I needed the excitement, the adrenaline. So I swallowed every secret and lie, forgave everything." John's eyes were almost black as they glared right into his. "I still need you, god help me. But… I'm about to become a father, Sherlock. I need to put my daughter first. And I can't have an addict who uses enough to hallucinate and pass out in her life. Along with his also still using friends who are comfortable with drugging pregnant women and elderly people unconscious."

Sherlock swallowed. His mouth was painfully dry and he had a feeling that it wasn't because of drugs. His heart was also hammering painfully. Or was it breaking altogether? "I'd never do anything that might harm your daughter, John", he swore, with absolutely all seriousness he could muster.

John's eyes flashed hazardously as a response. "You drugged my pregnant wife with the consult of another addict! As far as I'm concerned you already harmed her!"

Sherlock jolted visibly at the pain those words provoked and gritted his teeth. By then his fists were balled so tightly that nails almost dug through skin. "Billy knew perfectly well…"

"Is he a doctor, hmm? Does he have any actual medical or pharmaceutical training whatsoever?" John looked furious enough to harm someone physically. "Humor me and be honest for once. If you were sober… If you were in your right mind… Would you have trusted the safety of Mary and our unborn child to someone like him?"

Sherlock opened his mouth several times. Tried to snarl back, attempted to find a way to justify his actions. Until he realized that there was _nothing_. He'd finally poked and probed enough to see where John's limit went. "I'm sorry", he murmured, surprising them both. And meant it, for the bottom of his aching, supposedly nonexistent heart.

For a few endless moments John continued to glare at him. Then deflated visibly with a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping and all rage transforming to a horrible amount of sheer misery. "I believed you were sorry, you know. When you came back. From the start, no matter how angry I was. But right now…" The doctor shook his head and wiped his eyes although no tears could be seen. "Right now I don't believe a word that comes out of your mouth. Do us both a favor and don't come anywhere near me or my child until you're in a condition where I _can_ believe you." He hadn't noticed that the car stopped until John grabbed the door handle, hard enough for the doctor's knuckles to turn white and refusing to meet his gaze. "Sherlock… Get yourself together. Not for me, but for yourself. You…" John's jawline tightened. "You've got more potential than anyone I've ever met, you git. Don't you dare throw that away."

Sherlock knew that he had to say something. Needed to at least try. His heart was hammering close to his throat, muffling his words. "John, what I really wanted to say before boarding the jet…" But the door slammed closed, sealing John's verdict.

Sherlock stared at the car's door, his head spinning and feeling like he'd been falling all over again. Willing it to open. Willing this all to be nothing but a bad dream.

Eventually Mary's soft voice reached him. "Sherlock." How many times had she been calling out to him? "I'll talk to John, I promise." They both knew that this time it wouldn't be enough. John was done with words and vows. She left the vehicle without making a sound.

Leaving Sherlock alone with Mycroft. Which was the absolutely last company he wanted. He glared at his brother heatedly. "I am _not_ going to rehab! Moriarty…"

"You wouldn't be able to find even a lost puppy in your current condition, brother dear. Much less face something this dangerous. Judging by the expression on your face you're beginning to understand as much." Mycroft's tone came close to betraying the man's actual feelings. All of a sudden the Iceman appeared old beyond his years. "I'm very aware that mommy and I aren't enough reasons for you to sober up, we never have been. But what about work, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. Anger nearly boiled over. "You know perfectly well…"

"What about John? Is he enough?" Like bloodhound that'd caught a scent Mycroft went on mercilessly. "You've been willing to die for him twice. Will you also live without drugs for him, to keep him and his family safe?"

* * *

John hadn't made it far by the time Mary left the car. He was sitting on a nearby bench, staring at some unidentifiable spot in the horizon. Neither of them noticed the car sliding away as she sat beside him. "Are you sure that it was a good idea to…?"

"I don't know." John's tone was clipped, almost pained. It took her all not to reach out and hug him. "All I… All I know is that I'm _done_ being his enabler. I'm done being lied to. I'm done having other people decide what's best for me."

With those words it became adamantly clear that the anger wasn't only towards Sherlock. She also lied, a lot. She was partially responsible for the resurfacing of Sherlock's drug problem, her shot having forced the detective to use a morphine pump. Mary sighed, looking towards the same direction John stared at. All she saw was a wall. Today was clearly one of those days when, as he warned her, his anger towards her came out.

"He went to that jet imagining that he was heading towards his death, you know. I'm not as much of an idiot as he seems to imagine." John's voice held far more emotions than a single person should've been able to experience all at once. Her husband had his face buried to his hands. "He was headed to his death, and all he left me with was a handshake and his full name."

Mary felt a sharp twinge. At least he knew Sherlock's real full name… "John…"

"I know that you want me to understand. Because you two are too bloody similar." John sounded defeated and heartbroken. Anger would've been easier to bear. "But I'm not like you two. And right now… Right now I can't even…" He trailed off, almost pulling his hair in frustration.

"I'm sorry", Mary murmured, because she had no idea what else to say.

"I know." John sighed heavily. "Everyone's so bloody sorry."

* * *

John almost lost Sherlock twice that day. To drugs, and to the fatal mystery mission. Secrets and lies, again.

That night he couldn't sleep beside Mary. He wouldn't have been able to sleep, anyway. Of course he'd go back home eventually, perhaps as soon as the following day, but as it was he needed some space to breathe. Eventually he found his way to the pretty much last place he would've expected.

221B Baker Street.

Mrs. Hudson came to greet him as soon as she heard him coming. "John, oh, how glad…!" She then frowned at the sight of him. "Goodness, what's wrong, dear? Where's Sherlock?"

For a second, two, three, John stared at her. Then, before he got the chance to see it coming, he lost control. Surrendered to what he'd wanted to do since Magnussen was shot to death.

John Watson, who last broke down by Sherlock's empty grave, burst into bitter sobs that echoed from the bottom of his heart and soul.

* * *

End

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A/N: So… Yeah. That'd been lurking inside me for a while. (smirks sheepishly) Poor John! We'll see just what series 4 brings him… (gulps)

Soooo… Was that any good, at all? About this fic or the escalation of Sherlock's drug use? PLEASE, do leave a note to let me hear your thoughts!

Awkay, I really have to go, now. THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading this! Maybe I'll see you again one day…?

Take care!


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